


Tales of Feldman, Introductory Pages and Chapter One

by MindyGlazer



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 1981-10-05
Updated: 1981-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 14:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20908811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindyGlazer/pseuds/MindyGlazer
Summary: This work is close to 40 years old. It won the Fan Q Award, and it's sequel, More Tales of Feldman, not only won another Fan Q, but the Trekstar Award as well, basically all fan fiction awards extant at the time. It was the first anti-MarySue, a story of a match made in hell that readers told me made them laugh, cry, and pee their pants, all on the same page. It has been all but out of print for the last generation, and I am re-releasing the opening chapters here to see if there is any interest in publishing the entire story, and its sequel. If you read this, and would like to read more, please let me know.Now back to where it started....





	Tales of Feldman, Introductory Pages and Chapter One

TALES  
OF  
FELDMAN

by  
Mindy Glazer 

(c) 1981 by Mindy Glazer. This copyright covers only the original material herein. No attempt is made to supersede copyrights belonging to Gene Roddenberry or other holders of copyright on Star Trek material. 

A word before the original word (well, the 1981 word). 

This work is close to 40 years old. It won the Fan Q Award, and it's sequel, More Tales of Feldman, not only won another Fan Q, but the Trekstar Award as well, basically all fan fiction awards extant at the time. It was the first anti-MarySue, a riotous story of a match made in hell. It has been all but out of print for the last generation, and I am re-releasing the opening chapters here to see if there is any interest in publishing the entire story, and its sequel. If you read this, and would like to read more, please let me know.

Now back to where it started....

* * * * *

A WORD ... 

I know only one joke. It concerns a man who was walking down the street when he ran into his brother. No one ever laughs at that joke. Strictly speaking, that's not entirely true. I've told this joke to just about everyone I have ever met. In nineteen years, two people have laughed. 

And I always thought that joke was funny. 

You may therefore be somewhat upset to learn that I only wrote TALES OF FELDMAN to make myself laugh. And I did laugh. But when others laughed as well I decided to share Feldman, resulting in the product you now hold. 

So, this zine is dedicated to those who laughed, most especially to my mother, Feldman's first fan, who taught me that it's always better to laugh. That knowledge is responsible for TALES OF FELDMAN. It may also be responsible for the countless retellings of a joke no one responds to. 

And while we're on the subject, did you ever hear the one about the man who was walking down the street when he ran into his brother? 

You will. 

... ENJOY.

* * * * *

CONTENTS 

Brief filed on behalf of Defendant, Ensign Fiona Feldman, in hopes of plea bargaining 

Introductory Remarks, Fleet Envoy~ Lt. C. F. Kane, Investigating Officer 

The Hearing, Part One

The Boreding 

The Holidays of the Jewish Year, Part I

The Party 

The Saga  
Sog the First  
Sog the Second, Spock Engaged  
Sog the Third, After the Ball is Over  
Sog the Fourth, I was a Vulcan War Bride for the UFP  
Sog the Fifth, The Macha Tunim  
Sog the Sixth, 'Should auld acquaintance be forgot....'  
Sog the Seventh, Big Bertha's Back in Town  
Sog the Eighth, M is the the Matzoh Balls She Made Me  
Sog the Ninth, The Argument  
Sog the Tenth, Dinner at Eight  
Sog the Eleventh, Feldman Meets the Folks  
Sog the Twelfth, On The Road  
Sog the Thirteenth, In a Two By Nothing Hole in the Torrid Zone  
Section 322, Subsection 10, Paragraph 9  
Sog the Fourteenth, The Abomination  
Sog the Fifteenth, The Tutor's Tale, or, Devil May Care  
Sog the Sixteenth, The Spacies  
Sog the Seventeenth,Every Woman has a Right, or, Suddenly Last Summer  
Sog the Eighteenth, The Longest Yard

The Tapes 

The Hearing, Part Two

Recommendations, Fleet Envoy~ Lt. C. F. Kane, Investigating Officer 

Afterword 

* * * * *

In Defense of Ensign Fiona Feldman 

A brief filed by Samuel T. Cogley, Esq.,  
Stardate: 6463.5 

Federation vs. Feldman deals with what the Fleet would have us believe is an anomaly. True, we hear in the news of the exploits of courageous Captain Kirk and the heroic crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise. We are reminded that they are our elite ... regularly ... each time the Fleet's budget comes up for renewal. Could it possibly be that they're not so heroic as Fleet Public Relations would have us believe? Could it possibly be that Ensign Feldman's behavior is not so  
erratic as they would have us believe? 

The unit known as the U.S.S. Enterprise is staffed by 428 individuals. These individuals, though highly skilled in their own particular tasks, are individuals, people—and the occasional alien--and as such are neither so bland nor so boring that similar proceedings might have been brought against anyone of them, during their historic mission, for behaving much in the manner of Ensign Feldman. All this proceeding proves is that Feldman was the one who got caught. 

When viewed as a body, you will say, the ensign's actions do not befit those of an officer. Yet it must be remembered that the U.S.S. Enterprise was the first, and has been the only ship to remain an entity unto itself, cut off from 'civilizing' influences, for such a period of time. Perhaps, in view of the following, it may be recommended that such lack of access to the mainstream be more severely limited. This is a potential gain of Ensign Feldman's case. However, it is unjust, and certainly not in the interests of the Federation or the Fleet, to hold Ms. Feldman accountable for certain personal peccadilloes when her fellows remain uncharged. 

Ensign Feldman is guilty of being a human being. While her personal behavior may seem somewhat odd, it is not the function of this Board of Review, nor is it the function of her peers, to try her on such grounds. Ensign Feldman is Ensign Feldman. There is no statute currently extant in Starfleet Regulations which permits for trial on such grounds. 

She is charged with one crime: Absent Without Leave. In view of the extenuating circumstances surrounding the Ensign's final leave of absence, from which she never reported back, recommend that said infraction be commuted, in the interests of diversity upon which the Federation is based, to a Class D Misdemeanor. 

* * * * *

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS

FEDERATION VS. FELDMAN  
D-#-AWOL-38283-k2a  
CHARGE: DESERTION INTRODUCTORY REMARKS 

Fleet Envoy, Lt . C. F. Kane.  
Investigating Officer 

Ensign Fiona Feldman served aboard USS Enterprise for 609 days (see record appended). At termination of said service she was granted a sixty day leave of absence. Ensign Feldman failed to report back at the designated time. 

The enclosed evidence supports the conclusion that from the first, Ensign Feldman was guilty of behaving in a clearly non-military fashion. So egregious were her lapses it is strongly recommended to reviewing officer and/or officers that these findings be studied over a period of time. Reading this in one sitting may be hazardous to one's sense of military decorum (not to mention one's soundness of mind). 

After review of the enclosed, and close cross-examination of all available witnesses, I have ascertained the facts herein to be true, and, for the testimony represented, complete. Despite scuttlebutt to the contrary, it has yet to be incontravertably proven that Ensign Feldman, willfully and with prior intent: 

-in observance of the Jewish holiday of Chanukah, lit her menorah so close to the Christmas tree as to cause the ensuing conflagration (Damage to Federation property: 11,219 credits).  
-purportedly believing the swimming pool too shallow for high diving, inundated the hangar deck (Damage to Federation property: 6,802 credits).  
for aesthetic reasons, fertilized and seeded the bowling alley (Damage to Federation property: 4,733 credits. Surfeit of cannabis).  
was directly responsible, after the events of Stardate 6237.9, for tne rash of crewmen physically abusing their senior officers (Damage to Federation property: four captains, three first officers, nine security chiefs) 

and therefore all hints of these rumors have been edited from the text. 

As is customary in embarrassing situations of this type, some names have been changed to protect the innocent, ergo, watch out for anyone who sounds familiar. 

* * * * *

The Hearing, Part One

Captain's log, supplemental: Ensign Fiona Feldman, Absent Without Leave,  
Stardate: 6394.3 

Stardate: 6404.5. Preliminary Hearing, Ensign Fiona Feldman, Absent Without  
Leave as of stardate: 6394.3 

Spock refused to testify. 

Lieutenant Gilbert was called to the stand. 

Kirk began mildly. "Lieutenant, this is a board of inquiry, a fact-finding board if you will, called to determine whether court-martial charges should be brought against Ensign Feldman. Any information you may give us will be used toward that end." 

"Yes, Sir. I understand." 

"Proceed, Lieutenant," Kirk switched on the recorder. 

"Well, Sir, I really don't know if I can clarify the issue. I know Feldman's gone." Spock shot her a look of daggers. "I don't know where," she quickly added, "but I know she's gone. Her last few tapes were a little strange, but, then, Feldman's a little strange." Kirk grimaced, McCoy threw down his stylus, and Gilbert took a deep breath. "It's not her fault, Sir. None of this is her fault, however much it may seem to be. You don't know Feldman the way I do. True, she's strange to you, but she has good reason. She's had a difficult time of it, Sir."

"Captain," Spock began, "Lieutenant Gilbert appears to be too emotionally involved to render testimony in this--" 

"No, Sir. Excuse me, Sir, but you're wrong. I'm emotionally involved, true. Feldman is my friend. But I'm not too emotionally involved. I know Feldman better than anyone. I understand Feldman. I was called to testify for a reason, for this reason, and if that's not important here then I don't understand why you've asked me to speak."

"Go ahead, Lieutenant," Kirk prompted. 

"Yes, Sir. Well, Ensign Feldman has had a difficult time of it the whole way through, Sir. She never really fit in anywhere. It wasn't because she didn't try, sir, but, well, because she was what she was. It really isn't her fault ….”

* * * * *

TALES OF FELDMAN 

THE BOREDING 

The six golden shimmers coalesced into shape on the transporter platform, flickering into one female humanoid and five enormous trunks. Oblivious of procedure or rank the ensign saluted the waiting lieutenant with a wink, a big smile, and a “Hi kid, howls tricks?” 

“What've you got in there? Don't tell me, your rock collection.”

“No, that's coming up next. This is the art collection.” 

“Since when do you have an art collection?”

“Since I started reading dirty books with pictures.” They both eyed the trunks as Feldman explained, "Took all my electives in comparative obscenity."

Kyle, behind the console, was trying to remain a part of the scenery, but at that he began to cough convulsively. Feldman walked over to him, batted her eyelashes and said, “Wanna see my collection of Early American dildoes?” He was beginning to show signs of apoplexy as she turned back to Lt. Gilbert. “Where to, kid? Where's the boy for the bags?”

“Fiona, this is not Grand Hotel. You get your bags." 

“That's a physical impossibility. You got antigravs?”

Kyle, having recovered sufficiently to function, produced a set, and Feldman supervised the piling of three trunks, one on top of another. "We'll be back for the rest in a little bit,” she called as she and the lieutenant maneuvered out the door. "And don't you peek. You know, Gil,” Feldman continued from behind the wall of trunk, "you sounded awful bossy back there. I think you're letting this business go to your head. Is a year all it took to turn you into a fascist?”

“Fiona--”

“Really, I didn't think they could do it to you. Is everybody here like that?”

"You're in the goddamn military, Feldman," came a yell from behind the trunks, just as the first officer passed the peculiar procession. 

“'Goddamn,' Lieutenant?”

Nora Gilbert stopped, Fiona Feldman didn't, and the explanation came as the lieutenant found herself slowly crowded out of the Vulcan's line of vision. “Just a figure of speech, Sir,” she called to the now empty hallway. "Mr. Spock,this is Ensign Fiona Feldman, new in Sociology."

The introduction came in time for Feldman to pass Spock, say “Hi!” and walk on. The first officer, now alone in the hall, shook his head as though unsure of what he'd seen. He paused a minute later, sure of what held heard, and continued down the corridor.

In the lift Nora tried not to sound exasperated. “I don't know how you got assigned here, Fiona. Not that I'm not pleased, but this isn't Wasp Waller and it isn't the Academy. And if you don't watch it you'll be out of here faster than you left Exeter, and Davis, and Miss Drew's, and Laurence--" 

"Do you realize I set a record? And that was only the ninth grade. I bet I hold the all time record for school-hopping, but, kid, what you've failed to account for in your little list, aside from McKey, National, Brearley and Choate, is that I left them. Not that they weren't glad to see me go, but I haven't been kicked out of anyplace yet.”

“You came awful close." 

"Close but no cigar." 

The conversation ended in Feldman's new quarters. After parking the trunks she looked around unhappily. "Don't tell me I've got a roommate." 

"You've got a roommate. All junior officers share quarters." 

"All of 'em used to."

"You're not going to do what you did at the Academy?" 

"Not to mention what I did at Michigan and Berkeley and Mojave and the Institute." 

"Liz Dubinsky lives here--" 

"Do they always put Jews together?" 

"And she's nice. A little vacuous, but nice. Don't do it to her, she's sort of pathetic.”

"Okay. I promise no voodoo, and I won't reach for her in the dark unless provoked, but she's leaving." 

"Fiona!" 

“Don 't get so upset, kid. You share a room too. What if one of us gets lucky? Wouldn't it be nice to have someplace privé for such rare, albeit imaginary occasions?" 

Gilbert shook her head. "You know what's going to happen? Inside of a week the whole crew's going to be talking about the guano. And please don't bring out the black leather bra. I for one have to live here." 

"Be glad you don't live here. This Liz the Landsman's gonna have stories for her grandchildren. I somehow wish she wasn't Jewish." 

"She's not." Gilbert immediately regretted opening her mouth. 

Feldman's eyes began to gleam. "Well, in that case …." 

"Hatch your schemes later, you have to report to the captain." 

"Do I gotta?" 

"You gotta." A look of horror crossed Gilbert's face. "You do have orders, don't you, I mean, you are supposed to be here, you were assigned...?" 

“Me? I just missed your face."

* * * * * 

"Ensign Fiona Feldman reporting for duty … Sir."

The 'sir' took a little too long in coming, the tone was vaguely bored, and though at full attention the new arrival somehow seemed at parade rest. What with the backlog in beaming up new personnel, the transporter room inexplicably full of trunks, he was not pleased.  
He read the orders, looked at the ensign, read the orders again and muttered, half to himself, "I need another sociologist like I need a hole in the head." 

"Not general, Sir. I'm in a specialty." 

That appeared to make more sense, and came out with something approximating interest. He didn't have much use for the non-military scientist, but they did have their place. He fervently wished it wasn't on the Enterprise. "And what is your field, Ensign?" 

"I'm an inanist, Sir." 

He caught himself in the middle of the nod, just before the 'I see' became audible. "A what?" 

“An inanist. The most concise though perhaps least technical term. The actual title is rather lengthy.” 

“Try me.”

“An anomo-eccentro-absurdo-sociologist, Sir. You see, there are some frameworks so varied, so beyond human perceptual understanding that--”

“Very good, Ensign. I'm not interested in a history of inanity.” Kirk paused a minute, regarding the woman. Average/not bad, he decided. Apparently a little strange, but he didn't believe in pre-judging. “One question, Ensign. How did you happen on anomo-eccentro etc.?”

“My family's crazy, Sir. Is that all?”

Kirk pulled his mouth closed. “Dismissed.”

* * * * *

Liz Dubinsky was sitting in one corner of Rec Four, surrounded by a small but ever-growing group of junior officers. She was doing most of the talking while others murmured sympathetically and a few laughed. In the opposite corner sat Fiona Feldman, alone, fingering a rosary as she read from the viewer on the table. When Lt. Gilbert entered she willed herself not to turn red and walked resolutely to Feldman. Sitting down she noticed the rosary. “Academy. Sophomore year.”

“My freshman year. It worked then, why give up on a sure thing? Anyway, since you vetoed all the good stuff.... Don't look so annoyed, I did it for you. Now all they can say about your friend is that she's a religious fanatic. I still don't understand why you think that's better than being a pervert.”

“You did it in two days?" 

“Another record, and it almost did turn me into a fanatic. Do you know how many damn saints those Catholics have? I prayed to everyone of 'em. On my knees, yet. All night. Should've gotten a hair shirt, better effect." 

"You didn't tell her--?" 

"No, not this time. This time I told her I was converting because I was in love." 

"Don't tell me: you defrocked a priest. Fiona, Liz is almost as Catholic as you are Jewish. You should know that it wasn't very nice.” 

"No, but effective. Anyway, didn't defrock a priest, went one better. Told her I was entering into a polygamous union with the Dominican Friars. She should've asked sooner, I could've gotten her out in a few hours. As it is I'm sure she missed two nights sleep." Fiona looked over to the group. “She still looks a little piqued." She waved to Liz, crossed herself, and turned back to Nora. 

“You know they'll just assign someone else to share your cabin. I only hope it's not me.”

“So do I, kid. So do I." 

“Seriously, you keep this up and they'll send you down for a new psych profile, and you may wind up off the ship--not to mention in some institution.”

“ls that why the doctor wants to see me? Thought it was just a check-in physical. Doesn't matter, unless of course he has a terrific bedside manner. The only way to get through those tests is to be a little strange. Tell me it's normal for an individual to choose, voluntarily, to sign away five years of life at zero plus two pay per annum, to go nowhere in a big tin can full of fascists.”

"Fiona, what are you doing here?" 

“Running away from home.” She made the sign of the cross over Nora's head and left for Sickbay. 

* * * * *

“Left arm, please.”

“Hah!” Feldman snorted, as she gave the doctor the appropriate appendage. 

“You want to appeal this, Ensign?” McCoy asked, hypo poised. 

“As a taxpayer, I should. Waste of Federation property.”

“Waste?" McCoy scanned the medical records in the near viewer. “You think you're sterile?” 

“No, but live been told I'm frigid. Been so damn long lim sure I'm deactivated.”

McCoy grinned a little and said, “Doesn't work that way, Ensign. Left arm.” The hypospray hissed, and after replacing it he turned back to check the psychprofile again. “Having roommate problems, Ensign?”

“No, Sir." Not any more. 

"Who do you share with?”

“Well, Liz Dubinsky moved out this morning, sir.”

“Then Ensign Dubinsky had roommate problems.”

"I don't know, Sir. She never said anything about it to me if she did.”

“Then I suppose you're the only one. What exactly went on in there? She said you were planning to have, how did she put it? 'Obscene relations with an entire sacred order'?”

Feldman started to smile as she studied the floor. “That was a joke, Sir. I suppose I didn't know her well enough to know, uh, think that she might be offended by it. It's just my sense of humor.” She looked up at him again. “I've always had a very good sense of humor, Sir. It doesn't usually backfire like that.”

“What were you doing? Dubinsky was almost hysterical when she came in here. Looked like she hadn't slept for days.”

“I was doing field research, Sir. If you check my records you'll see that I have a very high plasticity quotient. It's wonderful in my work, sir. Anyway,in order to understand the other I find it helpful to be the other for awhile. Well, Sir, Catholics were next on my list, and I didn't want to spend too much time on it, you see my list is very long, and with Ensign Dubinsky right there I thought that if I wasn't doing it right she might help. But she didn't. We talked about it for awhile, and then I began to pray. 

“I think she resented my praying, Sir. I don't think she's prejudiced or anything--although she did look at me strangely when I interrupted the rosary to light shabbos candles--but I think maybe she has a guilt problem or something. It's understandable: I prayed all day and all night and still knew I was going to hell, you see I haven't been baptized. But I was very quiet about it, Sir. I mean, even Catholics believe it isn't the volume that counts. I don't know what happened, Sir, but this morning she was packing. I hope I haven't caused any trouble. I mean, I've only been here two days. I was very pleased to be assigned here.”

“Nothing that can't be repaired, Ensign. Don't worry about it.” He scanned the records again. “Ensign, are you related to the Chief Surgeon?”

“She's my mother, Sir.”

“And your father's Sean Feldman, of New York Psychiatric?”

“Last I heard." 

McCoy looked at the psych profile again: not perfect, but good enough. He called forth an Academy transcript: IQ high enough to support the honors. He went back to the psych profile. “How many times have you taken the psych tests?”

“I beg your pardon, Sir?”

“The psych profile, how many times have you taken the tests?" 

“Well, Sir, I couldn't say for sure. It must be in my records somewhere.”

“Before entering the Academy?”

"Yes, Sir.”

“May I ask where?”

“Sir, if you're implying that just because my father happens to make up those tests, that I might have access--”

That's just what he was implying but managed to look offended anyway. “Just answer the question, Ensign.”

"Well, Sir, I went to a number of private schools before entering the Academy.” Quite a number--lost count at 26. “You see, my parents were always shuttling back and forth between New York and Headquarters, and I was always quite ahead of my grade, and each time I got to a new school the psychologist wanted to check again, so--”

“How about one more time?” he asked, reaching to program the computer for the Robianni dermal-optic. 

“Sir, I think this is completely unfair! I've come to believe that the only reason I've taken those damn tests so often is because my parents invent them. They didn't try them out on us, in case you're interested.” They knew better than to find out all nine little Feldmans were as loony as their parents. “And if my name was anything else you wouldn't be asking that.”

The ensign looked down to the floor, quivering slightly. Chewing her lip, McCoy thought. She was right. Probably had to go through hell three times over because of her parents. Now he thought she was about to cry. “Okay, Feldman, but if there are any more roommate problems--" 

“Uh oh.” He looked at her defiantly. “Well, Sir, I think there may be.”

“And why is that, Ensign?”

“Because my work is often rather strange, Sir. And I've never had a roommate before, well, they never lasted long. I'm completely dedicated to my work, Sir. It's a new field and one I understand well. I've already had three papers published in The Itinerant Inanist, and I hope to make an important contribution in studying alien life forms." One in particular, she thought, considering the long, lean body of the first officer. "And because the work is rather different, so are the methods of study. So if you plan to threaten me with tests, Sir, we might as well begin now. Unless you put another inanist in with me there are bound to be problems.”

“And you, conveniently, happen to be the only inanist aboard.”

She shrugged. That ain't my fault. 

“Okay. As far as I can tell you're fit as a fiddle.”

“Then I'm dismissed, Sir? I'll take the tests again if--”

“Dismissed, Ensign.” 

* * * * *

“And that's how it went.”

“I don't believe you conned him so easily.”

“No man likes to watch a woman cry, Gil. I thought you found that out when you  
were almost attacked by that Neanderthal at the last Admiralty Ball." 

"I found it out from you at Wasp Waller. I just happened to remember it when I was almost attacked by that Neanderthal at the last Admiralty Ball." 

"It wouldn't have mattered anyway. All those tests are all the same. Even if I hadn't sneaked a peek at dad's notes all these years, you get used to the questions. God knows I learned to stay sane at an early age." 

"How is the family, anyway?" 

"Abe's still a snotty gynecologist, now he's in London. At least they don't have to see him for dinner. And his Becca's pregnant s again. I think he's taken on the family cause." 

"What cause?" 

"Didn't you know? The Feldmans have decided to repopulate the Earth with Jews. It's sort of like ecology: if you take out you put back. So whenever there's another war the Feldmans begin fucking their heads off. Sooner or later the State of Israel is going to be renamed 'Feldman'. That way the entire race will say what we say every Passover; 'Next year at Bertha's.' L'chaim." She took a sip and continued. "Our Becca's whore. I think." 

"What?" 

"Well, after that debacle with the medical student she went to Paris, wanted to have a salon. But I still think she's a whore. Sylvia's a public defender out in Idaho or Iowa or one of those places. Toadie's trying to be Abe, poor Toadie. Phyllis is starving in New York, writing The Great American Novel." 

"With your parents, I doubt she's starving." 

"She is, really. I saw her place, and no one who had access to any dough would ever wanna live there. The parents are mortified. She told them off, made a tape of it for me, it was incredible. I think they should've stopped at Abe, he's bad enough. Anyway, Felicia's at the age where all she wants to do is be loud and obnoxious--actually she's always been that way--and Franklin is the dear little whiz he always was. I'd like to be around when he gets old enough to tell the parents off. Clark we don't talk about." 

“Clark the Certified." 

Feldman nodded. "Completely and acceptably out of his tree. He walks around waiting to die, he's got conspiracies coming out of his ears. They bore me. I haven't talked to Clark in years." 

"And Doctor and Doctor?" 

"Same as ever. Oh, my mother lost a lot of weight, a regular femme fatale. I think my father comes home for supper now." 

"And you really managed to bullshit McCoy out of the tests?" 

"Gil, I told you it wouldn't have mattered. It's all the same, and you're still not allowed to dream about owls. Bats are fines but the owls'll screw ya' every time. Now I still have my senior officer to deal with, my senior senior officer. Belson was a breeze, just batted my big brown eyes and said something appropriately inane. But Spock, I have an appointment with him tomorrow after the shift. Getting to know you, I suppose. Now give me the lowdown on him, I wanna do it right." 

"I think, Fiona, you may have met your match."

* * * * * 

Feldman was still in her carrel two hours after the shift, rereading The Sociological Review for the latest. It was either that or reviewing the few truly inane cultures discovered since the opening of the star routes. She was interrupted during the rites of sexual initiation of the Salubria of Hardon II by a presence above her. 

“Ensign Feldman?" 

She pulled out the chair and lounged to attention. "Yes, Sir. Commander Spock?" 

"Mister Spock.” He took the chair beside the desk. She sat again. 

“I believe we met, Sir, when I was moving in.”

“Indeed.”He remembered clearly the wolf whistle just after she'd passed him. “And how are you acclimating yourself, Ensign?”

Not so bad, unless they stick me with another roommate. And even if they do, there's always the black leather bra. “Very well, Sir. Dr. Belson--”

“Lieutenant Belson.”

“Lieutenant Belson, sorry Sir, has been bringing me up to date on some of the more interesting sociological phenomena the mission has uncovered thus far. Beyond that, I'm continuing my work as live mapped it out, familiarizing myself with several groups outside my immediate sphere of learning. I was wondering, Sir, I mean, I know little about Vulcans beyond the standard Academy texts,” and a three-day roommate, “whether you could suggest a reading list I might follow. Not sociological, Sir, but the backbone of Vulcan education.” 

Spock studied the young woman suspiciously. “There are educational materials of all Federation cultures programmed into the computer, Ensign.”

“I know, Sir, but I thought you might give me some indication of what were the more important texts. I've already familiarized myself with the Books of Surak, which I'd like to discuss with you at some point, Sir, if you should ever have the time. I've read the history, studied the customs, but I think only a Vulcan could truly show me what was current. If you don't mind, Sir.”

“Vulcan society does not go in quite so much for … fads ... I believe the term is, as Terran cultures do, Ensign.”

“That wasn't what I meant to imply, Sir, but different authors are given different weights. The FSA issues guides to planetary cultures, but I thought I might go beyond that. Of course I understand if you're too busy, Sir.”

“There will be an amended list programmed into the computer in the morning,Ensign.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Spock stood and Feldman followed. “We can review it for any questions you might have ... in a week's time?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

* * * * * 

“Shit!” Feldman looked around the room, glad that Gilbert was alone. 

“You fucked it over with the first officer.”

“He fucked me over. Bought the whole damn sincerity routine. Now I have to learn all about goddamn Vulcan in a week. You know how many fucking books Surak wrote? It'll take a month just to plow through that stuff. Good thing he didn't wanna talk about it tonight. Jesus Fucking Christ, what the hell am I gonna do?”

“Welcome to life on a starship, Feldman. It's called work.”

“Did you see anybody movin' into my room yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Damn! For once I've got a good excuse to stay up all night and no one to use it on. Damn! Listen, I gotta ask you something. Spock's half human, right? I mean, that's what I heard.”

“That l s what I heard too.”

“So tell me about his sexual proclivities.”

"Feldman!”

"Gilbert! Don't give me any of that Wide-Eyed in Babylon bullshit. I asked a simple question.”

"He hasn't got any sexual proclivities as far as I can tell.”

"Him and the Dominican Friars." 

"Feldman, if you think you can seduce your way through this assignment you've got another think coming.” 

"Actually, I was thinking about blackmail. I mean, someone must've seen him first. Where's Kommack, anyway? Is he out here somewhere?”

"I think so, but just because of that damn tango--”

“Jealous!” 

"--at the Admiralty Ball, he's not going to save your skin.”

“The old geezer's after my ass. Hey,” her face suddenly brightened, "when's the next crew party?" 

"Spock does not dance, Feldman." 

"You sure? Wait a minute, I remember from the Academy, it's one of the ways Vulcans commune with a higher essence. Like Hasids, they dance their joy.”

"Not that way. Your tango isn't exactly expressive of joy.”

"You didn't answer that question either.”

“Yule's the next one.” 

“I forgot. We Jews don't go in for that sort of thing, remember? So when's the party?" 

"Forget it, Fiona, it's in about four months. And I really don't think Spock will succumb to the tango. He never stays for the party anyway.” 

"Damn!" 

* * * * *

Gilbert had to buzz three times before the 'Come on in, the water's fine,' came. Feldman was poised, in an itsy bitsy teeny weeny bikini, hammer in hand, about to desecrate the wall of her cabin. The lieutenant looked around in disbelief. One of the beds was gone, as was the second desk,the half of the room now used for sleeping was hung with fabric, and the bed, a very big bed, canopied Moorish style. The art collection was going up, predominantly not the X-rated one, while other collections were displayed on shelves along the length of the room. 

“Feldman, you didn't bring the dildoes! You brought the dildoes, Feldman!”

"I believe in being prepared. You can borrow anything you want, but take care of them--they are antiques.”

“You mean someone actually used--?”

"I don't know. They don't all come with histories. Except for that one.” She crossed the room and pointed to a particularly intriguing piece. “Found that in the house the first time we moved from New York. So," Feldman gestured to the room, "what do you think?”

"Not bad, not bad. Looks like the Fez Hilton.”

"Hilton? I don't know how I stand you, Gil, you're so middle class.”

"Everybody's middle class, Feldman. It's not a crime.”

"If being boring is a crime then it's criminal. Also, if being boring is a crime, this place is a fucking penal colony. Almost as bad as a Presbyterian Church.”

"Fiona, tell me something. What are you doing here? Why couldn't you go off and be bored someplace else? You hate regimentation; you're probably going to wind up court martialed as soon as someone gives you a direct order; what the hell are you doing here? And don't give me that long Feldman Starfleet tradition, that's in the Medical Corps. You can't just be a sociologist on a starship, you've got to be an officer too. And I still don't understand how you conned anyone into believing you were officer material." 

"I told you about the bats--" 

"Feldman, answer the question." 

"You want a drink? Well, you'd better have one anyway. Sit down." Feldman gave her a tumbler full of scotch. "L'chaim. " 

"If you think being middle class is boring, Fiona, you should see what it's like being on the-receiving end of Jewish." 

"A Jewish anti-Semite, very nice." 

"I'm not Jewish, Feldman." 

"That's what your ancestors said as they were being gassed at Auschwitz." 

"Don't change the subject, what are you doing here?" 

Feldman sat down next to her. "I think my mother's trying to kill me." 

"Oh god, you and Clark." 

"No. Clark never thought it was my mother. Clark's into celebrities." 

"What do you mean your mother's trying to kill you?" 

"It's every Passover, Gil. There's something in the chicken soup." 

"What? What's in the chicken soup?" 

"Matzoh balls! She knows I hate matzoh balls. The way she makes 'em it's no wonder. They're like these big lead sponges that expand in your stomach. You know, you were at our house for Passover." 

"That still doesn't answer the question." 

"It all has to do with the matzoh balls, really. Even if I was on a colony they'd expect me home for Passover, not to mention the High Holy Days. The Enterprise was the only ship I could get on that would guarantee lid never have to ask the Four Questions again." 

"Four Questions? Isn't the youngest supposed to--?" 

"Yeah, but Clark 's certainly not gonna do it, Phyllis as good as disowned, Felicia's on the horn during the seder, and Franklin's told the folks that if they try to make him go to Hebrew School he'll become a Hare Krishna. So now I'm out here--they'll make Toadie do it." 

"Until you blow it and they throw you out. Speaking of which, I thought you were supposed to be studying Vulcan this week. Give Up?” 

"Heh heh. Think live solved the Vulcan problem. Read abstracts of everything. Surak's kind of like the Talmud anyway, and all Spock said was if I had any questions...." 

"Feldman, I'm sure he didn't like the idea of you whistling at him. I have a feeling you'll be getting a pop quiz.”

"Heh heh heh. Prepared for that too. If it looks like he's gonna start askin' me questions, I'll start askin' him." 

"Why are you grinning like that? What are you going to ask him?" 

Feldman's eyes drifted to the dildo collection. 

"Oh no. You want to be kicked out of here or carried out on a stretcher? I really don't think you should do that." 

"Why not? Sex is a normal aspect of any culture. Any normal culture, that is. I can't figure this Vulcan thing out. What kind of people can they be if they only do it once every seven years?" 

"Horny?"

"Exactly. Oh, don't worry, I'll be properly clinical. But if he wants questions, I got questions. Somehow he reminds me of a nun, I don't think he'll want to talk about it.”

* * * * *

"Score one for our side," Feldman announced as she barged into Gilbert's room. 

"What happened?" 

Feldman leered. "He didn't wanna talk about it. You were right, he had lots of questions. Got mine in first and he turned green. Really. Kelly green. That was kind of intriguing, I'd never seen anybody do that before. But I very gracefully got him off the hook, started talking about the similarities between Surak and Rabbi Akiba. And whenever he started to talk about something else I brought it back to S-E-X." 

"I'm sure he didn't like that." 

"He's gonna like what's coming even less." 

"What now?" 

"I'm writing a report for him, comparative study of ritual sex practices—Vulcan and Hasid. He'll probably turn purple." 

* * * * *

Because it was Gilbert's turn to host Ladies' Poker Night, and only because it was Gilbert's turn to host Ladies' Poker Night, Feldman was allowed to sit in. She did not bring her marked cards. After three hands she wished she had: Rand was wiping the floor with everyone. Rand had thought to bring the marked cards. 

During the first break Feldman announced generally, "I've got a problem." Everyone busied themselves counting chips. "I've been aboard two weeks and I've been propositioned more times than I ever remember being in my whole life, which, although you'd never suspect it, is not an inconsiderable number." 

There were smiles all around as Mears told her, "It happens to every new woman we take on." 

"That's not the problem. What I wanna know is, who should I take up on it?" 

Janice looked a little pissed. "What do you want, recommendations?" 

And under her breath Gilbert said, "And we all know why she won't get any from you." 

"Exactly! I mean you people know the lay of the land, so to speak. Other than the one man who hasn't seen fit to proposition me, I wonder if it's worth the bother." 

The perpetually 22 yeoman glared as Uhura started to chuckle. "Feldman, at least half the women coming on go through a thing for Spock. It fades, in most cases, and it's a good thing, too. He is definitely not worth the bother." 

Feldman's eyes went wide. "Why? What's he like?" 

Now Uhura started to laugh. "I didn't mean he isn't worth it because he's no good, but that no one will ever find out." 

“Ever? What's he, locked into some chastity belt that only opens at Armageddon?”

"Just about.”

Feldman began plotting Armageddon, then decided she needed some interim measure. “Isn't there some Ladies' Rating System at work here? Because if there isn't, there ought to be."

Janice was still glaring, Uhura was still chuckling, and Gilbert said, "The only reliable information I can give you is on the Captain.” Now Rand looked like she would bust a blood vessel, if not several. "The Captain has a rep from here to Andromeda." 

"Wow!” Feldman said. "Didn't you always wanna have a reputation? But him? Military macho--I. can just see it--'Come, that's an order!'”

Rand looked decidedly purple. 

“The problem with the Captain," Gil continued, "is his scruples, which means, none of us.”

“Terrific. The only proven rep and he might as well be a nun. Anyone have any other suggestions?" 

From the ensuing silence it would appear that while the Enterprise was the pride of the fleet, its component parts might leave something to be desired. 

“You know what I ought to do? Maybe I can even find some way to have it approved through the department. Belson doesn't know what the hell I'm supposed to be doing anyway. At first I thought I would make up a survey for the women, but I don't know that it'll do any good now. It was only going to have one question: 'List the five best lays currently on the Enterprise'.”

"Five is overly optimistic,” Mears muttered. 

"Okay, well, list however many good lays you have personal experience of on the ship." 

“I don't think this whole thing is very funny,” Janice sniffed. 

And under her breath Gilbert muttered, "And we all know why you don't think this whole thing is very funny." 

“What you should do," Uhura said, “is make up a questionnaire for every man who propositions you." 

"And I know just how to do it. Section A will be all the bullshit questions about background, intellectual preferences, compatible prejudices. Section B will be physical make-up. 'Describe your arms.' I'm big on arms. 'Measurements. All of them.' Under that there'll be a parenthesis: 'The left vertical edge of this paper has been ruled into inches for your convenience. If it's bigger than the paper do not complete the rest of this, just come straight to my cabin.'" 

"You know size doesn't matter," Rand said sullenly. 

And Gilbert muttered under her breath, "He's that small, eh? How'd you find out? Walk in on him while he was dressing?" 

"And section C will be performance. Only three questions here: 'One: What is the proportion of times your partner reaches orgasm?'" 

"And we all know the answer to that," Mears moaned, as the table chorused, "Always." 

“Under that we put another parenthesis: 'According to the latest human sexual research it has been reliably established that at least 72.9% of all women fake orgasms.' Then we give 'em question two: 'Has this ever happened to you?'" 

"And we all know the answer to that," Mears repeated, as the table chorused, "Never." 

"But here's where we get 'em, the last question: How do you know your partner has achieved orgasm? a) I say 'Did you come?' and she says 'Yes'. b) She moans a lot, then she starts breathing heavy, then we come together." 

"Breathing heavy," Mears said, "gets it over every time." 

“c) 'Other.' There'll be a few inches for them to describe 'Other'." 

"Don't count on too many others," Uhura said. "Anybody, or any body that's worth anything is either already spoken for, or won't make a play for you 'til after the smoke has cleared."

"You mean you're saying there's hope? And you're also saying you won't tell me where from."  
Uhura grinned like the Cheshire Cat. "And you're sure there's no hope for the first officer?" 

"There's no hope for the first officer, but there's hope for you. At least I hope there's hope for you, or you're going to wind up more horny than you know what do with." 

"What does he do with it?"

"He's a Vulcan," Gilbert said. "Vulcans know what to do with it. But I have a feeling that's not going to work for you. Ladies, meet Fiona Feldman, eternal optimist, and only when men are concerned. I hate to say it, but Feldman has all the potential of one day growing to rival Christine Chapel in the unrequited love department, or others who shall remain nameless." 

Rand glared though no one looked at her and Mears said, "Listen, Fiona, life is really tough enough out here. The Romulans, the Klingons--" 

"Are they good in bed?" 

"The perfect lack of possibilities to warm your nights. The last thing you or this ship needs is another Christine Chapel. You just do what you have to do, and maybe your senior senior officer will give you a pat on the head--figuratively speaking, Spock doesn't touch--for a job well done, but that's it." 

"Maybe if I put Spanish Fly in his mango juice?" 

"It's already been done," Uhura said. "As have more things than even you could come up with. They don't work, and that's all there is to it. Try to get over it." 

"That's easy for you to say. You work right next to him." 

"Which is why I'm saying it. I went through it too, but being so close to him for so long, I mean, I think he's a nice guy in his own way, and a fine C.O., but he's really not a whole lot more than that. He does something akin to a smile maybe once every three weeks. He makes peculiar remarks we assume to be jokes because Vulcans don't joke. All he is is more honored in the breach than the observance, if you get my meaning. At this point you want him because he's different and he hasn't propositioned you. That's okay and you'll outgrow it. But if you're big on impossible dreams, Feldman--"

"She is." 

"Then you've picked yourself a whopper. Sooner or later your body's going to tell you it's not worth the wait and there'll be an end to it. Until then, Feldman," Uhura picked up her glass, "please, suffer in silence." 

* * * * *

When Gilbert found Feldman, certainly not in the Sociology Section during her duty shift, Fiona was having coffee with Liz Dubinsky. The blonde southern belle of Bio-Statistics had evidently forgiven what she couldn't forget, and Fiona was off on one of her Feldman Fables. Nearing the table it sounded like 'Tales of Abe's Wedding: Part Four, Aunt Yetta Does the Horah with a Caesar Salad and Several Greek Waiters in Rapid Succession.'

Liz was laughing uproariously, which for her meant a fit of obnoxious giggles with a hand over her mouth vaguely wondering what it was doing there. Gilbert waved a cassette before Fiona's eyes and told Dubinsky, "The salad wound up on the maid of honor and Yetta split the waiters with Grandma." Turning to Fiona she said, "Lookie what just arrived."

"Already? How'd it get here so fast? It is from Big Bertha?" 

"Already, I'm not tellin', and who else?" 

"Who's Big Bertha?" 

"Big Bertha holds the dubious distinction of having bore me," Feldman answered. 

"And bored her ever since." 

"You call your mother 'Big Bertha'?" 

"That's only when she's in a good mood." 

Fiona looked at Liz appraisingly, then turned to Gilbert. "Do you think she's ready for this?" 

"For what?" Visions of too many hours of 'Hail Mary Full of Grace' came back to Dubinsky. 

Gilbert smiled. "For Big Bertha. You think Feldman's bad?" 

"Big Bad Bertha. I am to inventive what she is to boring. Probably wants to know if I need an air conditioner." 

"One way to find out.” Gilbert dropped the tape into the viewer and the three were presented with a black leather couch, some immeasurable number of feet behind it a wall with half a Chagall over to the left. After a minute there came a muffled argument off-camera, then a ten-year-old boy stood before the pick-up, smiled, waved, crossed his eyes and zoomed in for effect. After pulling back he presented his tongue for minute inspection, then turned around and dropped his pants. The anatomy lesson over he whispered, "Uncle Bertie's on the loose, I think Felicia's pregnant, and Toadie got rejected by three more medical schools." 

A male voice from off-camera snapped, "Franklin!" 

"This is where he comes in to tell me Bertha'll be right here." 

On cue, Dr. Sean Feldman, balding, be-spectacled and dapperly dressed though definitely harried, came before the camera. He almost sat, then almost stood, almost sat again and walked to the pick-up. "Berth--your mother'll be right here, cookie." 

There was now a lot of yelling in the background, then Felicia scampered by, giggling, a tall heavy blonde girl in early adolescence. "You'll never guess what I did," she said as she crossed the field of vision. 

"Oh God, asshole, and I'll bet you're proud."

Something crashed in the background, more yelling, and Franklin was back. "She is pregnant. Sylvia's getting married, she says. She also says he's an Arab but Bertha thinks he's a Klingon." Franklin ran off again as more commotion was heard in the background. 

Fiona turned to Liz. "They wouldn't care what he was as long as he was Jewish. And I have a feeling this guy's not Jewish." 

Franklin was back. "Sylvia says he won't convert, she also says that she won't, but no one believes her. She met him at work, defended him on a murder charge." 

Bertha finally swooped onto the scene, a tall, dark-haired woman who somehow managed to look cool even though there was murder in her eye. She almost swatted Franklin, who ducked before she realized she was doing it on camera. She looked into the pick-up sincerely. “lt wasn't murder, Becca--" 

"Fiona," Dr. Feldman-the-male called from off~camera. 

"Fiona, dear. It was only assault, and of course he was innocent.”

"Then why'd he go to jail?" Franklin yelled. 

"She says he's a very charming fellow," Bertha continued. "I 'd like them to talk to the Rabbi, but you know how Sylvia is, so stubborn. Excuse me a minute, dear.” Bertha ran off again, another crash was heard in the background, a loud scream, a cat shrieked and more yelling. 

"'Stubborn' means you don't do what Bertha wants you to," Gilbert explained. "Feldman here is stubborn for going into Star Service, and I'm stubborn for not being Jewish."

Franklin ran back in, Bertha in hot pursuit. "Becca is--" he started before Dr. Feldman-the-  
female pushed him away. 

"Becca is just fine, dear. We're all just fine. Please send my regards to Nora. I'm so glad she's there with you. Maybe you can both make it to the seder this year." More screaming, Bozo the family beagle ran by, another crash. Bertha looked puzzled. "Really, dear, I don't understand it. You know it's not usually like this." 

"My ass." 

"What was I saying? Oh yes, the seder. I've found a very nice boy for Nora, dear.”

"Heaven forbid," Gilbert muttered. 

"Actually, I found two. One's a doctor, but his family is very religious so I don't think she'd be acceptable. I'm sure she'll come to her senses one day about who she really is--" 

"And whether she wants to join Hadassah or B'nai Brith," Feldman cut in. 

"But until then, well, I thought she would like Rabbi Tannenbaum." Dr. Feldman-the-male came in and joined Big Bertha on the couch. 

"Rabbi Tannenbaum? I'm not Jewish enough for some Jewish doctor and she wants to stick me with some rabbi?" 

"I bet he's reformed. She wants to ease you into your heritage slowly." 

"So," Dr. Feldman-the-male began, "how are the stars, cookie?" 

"If he calls me cookie one more time I'll throw up." 

Bertha looked at her husband as though he'd gone out of his mind, which he must've some time previous to proposing to her, and turned back to the pick-up. “As I was saying, dear, Rabbi Tannenbaum is Sylvia Shapiro's nephew, just ordained." She leaned in and whispered, "He has a reformed congregation in Scarsdale," just as Franklin whizzed by again, screaming, "Don't do it, Norrie. He's ugly and boring and probably a lousy lay." Bertha ran off to swat Franklin as Liz turned to Feldman. 

"You call this boring?" 

"I call Bertha boring. You'll notice nothing has come as a result of her presence, except for much interrupted communication.”

Dr. Feldman-the-male repeated, "So, how are the stars, cookie?" 

"Barf, barf.”

"Abe's Becca's pregnant again. Big as a house, probably more twins. Oh, here's Toadie, er, Toddie." Dr. Feldman-the-male walked off-camera and came back with an arm around his son's shoulder. The boy was clearly old enough to be called a man, in fact a year older than Fiona, but as Toadie was always Toadie, Toadie was too young for his age. He slapped the boy's back enthusiastically, saying, "Say hello to your sister, Son," as Toadie recoiled from the thwack. 

"Hi, which sister is it?" 

"Why, it's Fiona, Toa--, Toddie." 

"Hi Fiona. So how are the stars?" 

"At least he didn't say 'cookie'." Dubinsky was getting into it. 

As Dr. Feldman-the-male stood thwomping his son Felicia slunk into the background.  
From behind the couch she held up a sign. 

"Can you make out what that says?" Feldman asked, straining after the scrawl on the board.

"'I finally got'--is that 'laid'?" Gilbert asked. 

"'But I blew it,'" Dubinsky finished, matter-of-factly. 

"Good thing she comes from a long line of abortionists." 

Felicia ducked behind the couch at the approach of Bertha. Toadie looked vastly uncomfortable as Dr. Feldman-the-male was trying to look proud of his second least  
promising son. Bertha sat on the couch, again looking at her husband as if he were strange. "So, do they have services on that ship you're on, dear? And have you made any nice friends? You know, we saw Elliot Iberman at shul during Yom Kippur. He asked about you.”

"Who's Elliot Iberman?" Gilbert asked. 

"Some kid I went to Hebrew School with. Probably a doctor by now." 

"He's a gynecologist now, dear, and his skin has cleared up remarkably." 

"Fine fellow, that Fiberman, fine fellow," Dr. Feldman-the-male added enthusiastically while Bertha again fixed him with one of her looks. "And he's not married yet, Fiona, dear,” she continued. "You know, Jewish men make the best husbands, but then, I can't tell you, you're so stubborn. Out there with God only knows what kind of people. I mean, I'm sure they're very fine, dear. I'm certainly not disparaging Starfleet." 

"Since there's been a Starfleet there's been a Feldman in Starfleet," Dr. Feldman-the-male interjected whole-heartedly. Now everyone was staring at him as though he was out of his mind. 

"But, I mean, your crew isn't even all human, is it, dear?" 

Franklin came to sit on the floor in front of the pick-up. "Don ' t worry, Bertha. Vulcans don't believe in sex." 

Dr. Feldman-the-female looked as though she'd developed instant rigor mortis. "Honestly, Franklin, I don't think I like the boys you're playing with." Franklin was busy crossing his eyes, sticking out his tongue, and vigorously gesturing heavenward with his two middle fingers, shielded from his parents by his back. At this point came a definite sound, perhaps a hiccup,from behind the couch. Bertha looked over her shoulder and pulled Felicia up. Felicia did not disengage arm from sign. After reading it Bertha ran out after Felicia. 

“So , how are the stars, cookie?”

Franklin was contorting his face by sticking fingers in ears, nose, mouth, and pulling out the corners of his eyes. He stopped long enough to whisper, “I think Becca's in jail--controlled substances.” Then, louder, “My birthday's coming up. How about those books?”

"Oh god, Feldman, what kind of books?”

“What do you think?”

There was now a tremendous crash, screaming by at least two females and one male off-camera, which set Bozo to barking. “I think we're going to have to say good-bye now, cookie. I uh--” Dr. Fe;dman-the-male looked off to his left. “I don't know what's going on, but, well, send our love to Nora." 

Franklin ran to the pick-up. "And don't forget those books. You can't weasel out of it with The Song of Songs this time. Miss you, Feef." 

The tape went black over Bozo's barking. 

Dubinsky looked vaguely shell-shocked. Finally she turned to Feldman. “That was your family, wasn't it? I mean, you didn't pay somebody to make that tape?" 

"When I told you I was running away from home, Liz, I wasn't kidding." 

* * * * *

And then there were the books. 

Feldman had a lot of collections, not the smallest of which was her galactic pornography collection. Being a generous soul she had made a lending library of it, and almost managed to get approved a weekly book discussion group ... until somebody decided to look up the alien terms and practices outlined on her proposal. She didn't know who it was, but she had her suspicions, and wound up again taking the battery of tests--omitted was the Feldman Scale of Interpersonal Adjustment--that made up the standard psych profile. And again, Feldman was found to be Feldman. She was called down to McCoy's office after he'd gone over the newest set. 

"Sit down, Feldman, I, uh, want to talk to you.” 

Feldman sat and waited for him to begin. She waited a long time. 

“Well, uh, Ensign, uh, it's about your lending library--”

“You're welcome to borrow any of them, Sir, as long as you're careful. Some of them are quite rare.”

"That's not what I meant, Ensign. You seem to be, uh, very interested in sex.”

“Well, aren't you? I mean, isn't everyone?"

"Well of course I'm-- Your collections, Feldman. Aren't you interested in anything else?”

"I have a rock collection, and an art collection, Sir.”

"Yes, I've heard about the art collection.”

“No, I mean a real art collection. And most of the pieces I have, in all the collections, Sir, are unique and interesting, aside from whatever sexual undertones may go with them." 

What the hell else can a dildo have but sexual undertones? "Feldman, frankly it seems you're a little too preoccupied with sex. You've tested out fine, but any sort of preoccupation here other than duty can have disastrous consequences.”

“Sir, other crew members have their hobbies, I have mine. I wouldn't say I'm preoccupied with sex per se, but it's an aspect of life we all consider. I do it personally and professionally." 

“Professionally?" 

"Inanity's historical roots are in the peculiar rituals of denial once practiced around Terran sexuality. Just about every book in that collection shows some clear aspects of the phenomemon, Sir, and many are from Academy courses.”

"You learned that at the Academy?" 

"It's only another academic discipline, Sir. And I'm no more preoccupied by sex than any other healthy young woman who hasn't had it for too long." 

The last came out as she studied her clasped hands, a blush suffused her face, and McCoy had to suppress a grin. "Well, Ensign, the men outnumber the women here three to one. That shouldn't be a problem much longer. Have you met Ensign Chekov?"


End file.
